


Split Ends

by bree_black



Series: You Sure Clean Up Nice [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Between Seasons/Series, Ficlet, Gift Fic, Grooming, Haircuts, M/M, Season/Series 08
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-07
Updated: 2012-09-07
Packaged: 2017-11-13 18:27:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/506410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bree_black/pseuds/bree_black
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So that’s how Sam ends up sitting in the motel room’s single rickety chair, hair damp, while an angel brandishes a pair of safety scissors behind him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Split Ends

**Author's Note:**

> For rule_number_7, VanCon roommate extraordinaire, who requested Sam/Cas. Beta'd by GwendolynD.
> 
> Part of the "You Sure Clean Up Nice" series, a multi-pairing set of ficlets written for my VanCon roommates based on (non-spoilery) things we heard at convention. Each set hypothetically in early S8, and for some reason each about grooming and personal hygeine?

The first word Dean says when he walks through the door after a year in Purgatory is “Sam.”

The rest of the sentence is “cut your goddamn hair, because you look like a Kardashian.” He smirks then, and nudges Castiel in the ribs with his elbow, but the angel merely blinks. Apparently he doesn’t understand the reference.

So that’s how Sam ends up sitting in the motel room’s single rickety chair, hair damp, while an angel brandishes a pair of safety scissors behind him.

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” Sam asks, for about the hundredth time. It feels weird to be left alone with Cas - it’s not bad, exactly, but it’s not something he’s accustomed to. Dean’s a mere ten steps away, showering off what looks like a decade’s worth of filth. He hasn’t even closed the bathroom door all the way, but any distance feels significant at this point.

Apparently Cas’ mojo is gradually coming back, because his trenchcoat is spotless. “After millennia in existence and lifetimes of military training,” he says drying, “I believe I can manage to shorten your impressive mane by six inches.”

Sam laughs, as much at Cas’ easy sarcasm as at the joke itself. It’s obvious that Dean has rubbed off on Cas, after a year with only each other for company. Sam knows he’s changed in their year apart, clearly Cas has changed too, and so Dean must have as well. It’s an uneasy realization, but also kind of a hopeful one. Because after all they’ve been through together, is it even possible for things to get worse? Isn’t _any_ change good by now?

Cas gathers Sam’s hair and makes an initial cut. Inches of hair land on the stained motel carpet, and though the room doesn’t have a mirror in which he can examine his reflection, Sam’s head feels lighter already.

After he removes the bulk of the length, Cas goes more slowly, examining his work from all angles and making sure it’s even. His fingers feel good against Sam’s scalp, and Sam has to resist the urge to lean into the sensation and purr like a contented cat. It’s been a long time since he was touched.

 _Snip. Snip._ Pause. _Snip_ again. The silence starts to feel oppressive, and Sam wonders if this is somehow exploiting Cas, sitting here and relishing in his touch without even trying to make conversation. So he says the first thing that pops into his head.

“I thought about you.”

Cas stops his work, though he leaves his warm palm resting against the back of Sam’s freshly bare neck.

“I mean, I knew I would think about Dean,” Sam rushes on, “Of course I would obsess over Dean. But I thought about you, too, every day.” He wishes he’d kept his mouth shut even before he finishes the sentence.

Cas resumes cutting, very slowly now. He’s down to the details. “I thought about you a great deal as well, Sam,” he says. “I must admit that before our imprisonment I thought of you and Dean as more or less interchangeable, as cut from the same cloth. But your absence made me keenly aware of the differences between you.”

“You’ve always liked him better than me,” Sam says. He means it to be a statement of fact, but it sounds like whining.

Cas moves to stand in front of Sam. He crouches down and cups Sam’s chin in one hand, forcing him to hold his neck straight. Sam tries not to flinch at the touch of cold metal as Cas cuts his bangs.

“Dean was my responsibility and my mission,” Cas says softly. His breath is warm on Sam’s face. “In my single-minded desire to do right by him I was blind to everything - and everyone - else. Cas’ gaze jumps down from Sam’s forehead to his eyes, then he leans over to trim one side of Sam’s head, so that he’s practically whispering in Sam’s ear. “But I’m beginning to think I did myself a disservice with such focus.”

Goosebumps rise on Sam’s skin, and race all the way down the left side of his body, from his throat to his ankle. Sam’s arousal is as unmistakable as the flirtation in Cas’ voice.

“Oh,” Sam says, moments before Cas kisses him once, quickly, on the mouth.

The shower stops running in the bathroom. By the time Dean emerges, wearing only a towel, visible skin raw and red from scrubbing, Cas is standing again, circling Sam in search of any stray hairs in need of trimming.

“Nice work, Cas,” Dean says, grinning. “Kid could almost pass for an FBI agent now.” He throws himself onto one of the creaky beds and switches on the TV.

Sam stands, stretches out a crick in his neck, then goes to the bathroom. He wipes away the fog Dean’s shower left on the mirror with his sleeve.

The shorter length and the bangs remind Sam of Stanford, of a time before he’d grown his hair long because it just didn’t seem practical to waste time or money on cutting his hair when the only people who’d see it were Dean and a rotating cast of monsters and their victims. But Sam’s face is changed, is older, scarred, and more weathered after all it’s been through since then. The different pieces of his past assemble so that it looks like an entirely new person staring at him out of the bathroom mirror now.

And Sam kind of likes that. He touches the back of his neck, then his own mouth, still feeling the ghosts of Cas’ touch. New experiences for a new version of himself. Yeah, Sam likes that idea a lot.


End file.
